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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/22776418">To Speak of Love</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mizmak/pseuds/Mizmak'>Mizmak</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman &amp; Terry Pratchett</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Declarations Of Love, First Kiss, Happy Ending, M/M, Romance, Short &amp; Sweet, Sleeping Together</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-02-17</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-02-17</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-04-28 14:54:17</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>2,009</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/22776418</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mizmak/pseuds/Mizmak</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Actions may speak louder than words when Crowley gets an invitation to share Aziraphale's bed, and struggles to find the right words to say there.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>4</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>98</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>To Speak of Love</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>          It was late. </p>
<p>          Crowley had been lounging on the bookshop sofa for over four hours, so entrenched that he thought he might <em>be</em> part sofa by now.</p>
<p>          “Six,” Aziraphale said from the chair across from him, apropos of nothing.</p>
<p>          “Hm?” </p>
<p>          Aziraphale waved an unsteady hand at the coffee table, which was cluttered with bottles and glasses.  “Six bottles of wine.”</p>
<p>          “Yup.”  Crowley tried to do the math.  Two of them, three bottles each, four hours…not that bad.  He felt pleasantly relaxed, content to be exactly where he was, a little bit hazy but not drunk.  Not like a human might be, anyway – they could handle more alcohol than humans without as ill an effect.</p>
<p>          “One,” Aziraphale said.</p>
<p>          Crowley snorted.  “Are you just going to speak in numbers from now on?”</p>
<p>          “One o’clock in the morning.”</p>
<p>          “Oh.  Yeah.”  Crowley yawned.  “Do you want me to leave or something?”  He didn’t want to leave.</p>
<p>          “No, no.”  Aziraphale suddenly yawned too, which was rather unusual for him.  He waved his hand again, at nothing in particular.  “No, no, no…stay.  You can stay.” </p>
<p>          “I’m falling asleep,” Crowley said.  “So are you.”</p>
<p>          “Nonsense.  I don’t need to sleep.”</p>
<p>          “Neither do I.”  Crowley yawned again, and stretched his arms.  “Doesn’t mean we <em>can’t</em>.” </p>
<p>          “Fine.  Go to sleep, then.”</p>
<p>          “Not here…”  He felt comfortable and content and relaxed – far <em>too</em> comfortable.  The sofa threatened to trap him forever and that pleasantly inebriated part of his mind worried that if he fell asleep there he might never want to wake up.  “I’m being sucked into the cushions.”</p>
<p>          “Ah.  It is rather old and worn.”</p>
<p>          “It sags.”  Mostly that was from <em>him</em> lying there, creating indentations over two centuries.  “Don’t you have a bedroom?”</p>
<p>          “Upstairs.”  Aziraphale stretched his arms and let out another yawn.  “Sometimes I even use it.”</p>
<p>          “Thought you didn’t need to sleep.”</p>
<p>          “Doesn’t mean I <em>can’t</em>.”</p>
<p>          Crowley looked at his dearest friend, who gazed back at him with a strange expression – definitely affection there, though mixed up with something else.  Hesitation?  Concern? </p>
<p>          “Maybe I should just stay here.”  He scrunched into the cushions.</p>
<p>          Aziraphale’s expression changed ever so subtly, and the concern ever so slowly disappeared.  “Go upstairs.”</p>
<p>          Crowley stared at him, wondering.  Had something just altered in their relationship in that moment?  One step closer…he sighed.  He wasn’t sure.  Two much wine, too late in the night – and even if he felt the love between them shift, he knew he had no words with which to say it. </p>
<p>          Speaking easily of love – that simply wasn’t his way.  He was all about showing, and doing – not so much with the talking.</p>
<p>          He did want to go upstairs to Aziraphale’s bed.  But he didn’t know if he could move, and he wasn’t entirely sure if it was only his body that refused to cooperate. </p>
<p>          “Too tired,” he murmured.  “Can’t walk.”</p>
<p>          Aziraphale looked at him for a long time, and then he rose from the chair.  “<em>I</em> can.” </p>
<p>          He came round the coffee table and held out his hand.  “Come on, then.”</p>
<p>          Crowley took his hand and allowed himself to be pulled up off the sofa.  He staggered a little, and he let Aziraphale steady him, allowed himself to be held for a moment with those gentle arms. </p>
<p>          <em>No words…he never had the right words.</em></p>
<p>          Aziraphale guided him up the stairs to the bedroom, slowly, steadily.  Crowley leaned into him, and he wanted to say something – anything.  He wanted to be another step closer to love, but his mind refused to obey. </p>
<p>          They reached the bedroom, where Aziraphale led him to the far side of the bed.  “Go to sleep.” </p>
<p>          Crowley sank onto the bed.  He snapped his fingers, switching his clothes for pyjamas, and he slid beneath the sheet.  He stretched out, settled down on the pillow, and fell into sleep before even knowing if Aziraphale had climbed in beside him.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>          He had.</p>
<p>         </p>
<p>          Darkness.  Comfortable bed.  Soft pillow.  Someone beside him…Crowley slowly reached consciousness, though his mind didn’t seem to know exactly where he was…had he gone home?  He never slept anywhere but his flat.</p>
<p>          This couldn’t be his flat...or was it? </p>
<p>          There was too much hazy fog in his mind.  <em>Wake up, already</em>. </p>
<p>          He was on his side, and as his eyes gradually adjusted to the dim light in the room, he saw Aziraphale beside him, lying on his back, eyes open.</p>
<p>          He saw that he had put his arm over the angel’s chest.</p>
<p>          Possibly this was not his flat…</p>
<p>          “Angel?” he whispered.  He felt warmth flow through him, along with a trembling quiver along his spine. </p>
<p>          Aziraphale looked at him.  “Hello.”</p>
<p>          <em>Hello?</em>  Crowley smiled.  <em>Oh, Angel, </em>he thought, <em>we are </em>way <em>past ‘hello.’</em> </p>
<p>          He couldn’t think of anything to say, though, other than his usual words – the ones he always fell back on in times of tension – the flippant ones that got him through all of life’s more difficult times.  “Nice pyjamas.”  He fingered Aziraphale’s satin pyjama top. </p>
<p>          “Crowley,” Aziraphale said in an oddly hesitant way, “Do you love me?”</p>
<p>          His hand froze. </p>
<p>          “Don’t you know,” he replied, clinging hard to his nonchalant manner, though his body’s quivering betrayed him, “that I always fling an arm over any angel I find in my bed?”</p>
<p>          “This happens to be <em>my</em> bed.”</p>
<p>          “Is it?”  Crowley raised his head to look around the room.  He could now see the flowered drapes, and a cozy fireplace.  He looked down at the white satin sheet he lay beneath.  “Oh, yeah.  It’s all coming back to me.”</p>
<p>          Aziraphale lay his arm atop Crowley’s.  “Too much wine, I expect.  You were <em>very</em> tired.  I helped you up here, remember?”</p>
<p>          He remembered.  He had wanted to be here.  “Thanks.”</p>
<p>          “You’re welcome.  And you haven’t answered my question.”</p>
<p>          “I haven’t?”  Oh, yeah.  <em>That</em> question.</p>
<p>          “You <em>do</em> have your arm around me still, in case you hadn’t noticed.”</p>
<p>          <em>Cheeky bastard</em>.  “Yeah, I did notice.”</p>
<p>          “And I’ve laid my arm on top of yours.”</p>
<p>          “Yup.”</p>
<p>          “Which you have not objected to.”</p>
<p>          “Nope.”  Oh, screw it – this dancing around was ridiculous – just <em>say</em> it.  “Fine.  I love you.  Are we good?”</p>
<p>          Aziraphale sighed. </p>
<p>          Crowley could tell it was not a satisfied sigh.  Not one bit.</p>
<p>          “My dear fellow,” the angel said with a twinge of exasperation, “you do go to the motion pictures, yes?”</p>
<p>          “Frequently.  Why?”</p>
<p>          “Would <em>any</em> of those pictures have been of the more romantic persuasion?”</p>
<p>          <em>Ah</em>.  So that was what he was irked about – his rather bald statement had not been romantic enough.  He knew it hadn’t been right, but he didn’t speak that way.  “Yeah, yeah, seen a few, bored me to tears.”</p>
<p>          “Really.”</p>
<p>          The arm that Aziraphale had laid atop his own suddenly wasn’t lying atop his own any longer. </p>
<p>          It was now Crowley’s turn to sigh.  “You want me to be hearts and flowers guy?  Have I <em>ever</em> been?”</p>
<p>          “Well, not in so many words.  But in other ways, yes.  You are.  I mean, you have been. To me.”</p>
<p>          “I have?”  Crowley felt thoroughly confused.  “When?”</p>
<p>          “When you blew the paint stain off my coat.  When you brought chocolates to the bookshop opening.  <em>Any</em> of the thousands of times you gazed at me while I was eating.  Not to mention the numerous times you rescued me from certain discorporation.”  Aziraphale paused.  “Or when you asked me to run away with you to the stars.”</p>
<p>          Crowley nodded.  Yes, he supposed those could be seen as romantic gestures.  Truth be told, he knew perfectly well that they <em>had</em> been.  Just not ever spoken about – that is, he didn’t <em>say</em> romantic things.  He simply <em>did</em> them.  “Man of action, that’s me.”</p>
<p>          He heard a little huff, and turned to look at Aziraphale, who stared at the ceiling with pursed lips and a furrowed brow.  “It would be nice if you could find words to go with your actions.”</p>
<p>          His friend loved books and reading, of course.  He loved words.  Poetic ones.  That’s what he wanted, apparently.  “Sorry.  I’m not that good with words, Angel.” </p>
<p>          “I noticed.”</p>
<p>          Crowley propped his head up with his other hand.  He decided it was time for action, which he understood better than words, so he leaned over to kiss Aziraphale’s forehead.  “I still love you, though.” </p>
<p>          The angel’s brow smoothed out, and his pout disappeared, replaced with a smile.  “That was nice.”</p>
<p>          “Good.”  Crowley tried a kiss on his cheek.  “How about that?”</p>
<p>          Aziraphale closed his eyes.  “Very nice.”</p>
<p>          Crowley looked at the angel’s lips, which were slightly parted.  They looked ever so inviting.  “How about this?”  He brushed his lips against them.</p>
<p>          “Ah…”  Aziraphale opened his eyes and turned towards him.  “Are you inferring that actions speak louder than words?”</p>
<p>          “Angel, it would take me <em>years</em> to come up with flowery sentiments.  This is a lot quicker, trust me.”</p>
<p>          Another sigh.  “I suppose I shall have to take what I can get.”  Aziraphale lay his arm over Crowley’s once more.  “Do kiss me again, only longer.”</p>
<p>          Crowley obliged.  </p>
<p>          This time he lingered over the touch, and Aziraphale responded with enthusiasm.  Somehow they wound up in a tighter embrace as the kiss lengthened and deepened, and somehow he found he had a hand round the back of his friend’s head, caressing his hair, and somehow Aziraphale was running a hand through his hair as well and they seemed to become ever more entangled with each other, and he loved every place where they met and every caress that they shared, and every shivering torrent of pleasure that somehow connected them heart to heart and soul to soul.</p>
<p>          And suddenly, as their lips parted, he found that somehow, there <em>were</em> words deep inside him that needed to find the light. </p>
<p>          “Aziraphale…”  He touched those wondrous lips.  “Those gestures I made – everything I ever did to show you how I felt – they weren’t only for you.  I’m a selfish bastard – every time I saved you, I was saving myself, because without you here, I was nothing.  Whenever I watched you savor your food, it was so that I could see myself in your eyes, loving every second of your enjoyment.  And every time I performed a miracle for you, that miracle touched me back a thousand times stronger.  I was speaking to you, Angel.  Maybe not with words – but I was speaking, and I know you heard me.”</p>
<p>          Aziraphale touched his cheek.  “Yes.  I did hear you.” </p>
<p>          They kissed again, not only on the lips but anywhere and everywhere a touch was needed, a caress desired. </p>
<p>          “I love you,” Crowley whispered as he kissed Aziraphale’s neck.  And then it occurred to him that he hadn’t actually heard those words in return.  He raised his head to gaze directly into his friend’s eyes.  “Well?”  He smiled.  “Are you out of words, Angel?”</p>
<p>          Those beautiful eyes were shining.  “I think you stole them all away from me.” </p>
<p>          “Fancy that.”  Crowley lay a hand on the angel’s chest once more.  He undid a couple of buttons to slide inside the satin top, and he started a circular caress, feeling the deep rise and fall of Aziraphale’s breaths, the taut skin, the soft hair.  “I’ll tell you how it goes, shall I?”</p>
<p>          “I’d like that.”  Aziraphale leaned into him a little more, nestling his head on Crowley’s shoulder.</p>
<p>          “You’re my best friend.”  <em>Simple</em>.</p>
<p>          “Yes.”</p>
<p>          He felt Aziraphale’s muscles relax beneath his touch.  “You’re the one constant in my erratic life.”  <em>Easy</em>. </p>
<p>          “I am.”</p>
<p>          He kissed the top of Aziraphale’s head.  “And you love me.”  <em>Truth</em>.</p>
<p>          “Yes.  I do love you.”  </p>
<p>          <em>Words</em>.  The best words in all the world. </p>
<p>          Spoken or unspoken – love could be told with language, or told with each and every act between them – or it could just be there in a look, a gesture, a soft caress.</p>
<p>          He loved hearing the words.</p>
<p>          And he loved hearing all of the rest – every little thing that they told to each other in silent communion.</p>
<p>          Crowley tilted Aziraphale’s chin up to kiss him again, lightly this time – simply and easily – with a truth that didn’t need speaking.</p>
<p>         </p>
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